Holy Guacamole. The business of “back to school” is no joke. I used to think it was just paper, pens, and school supply runs to Target. Yah. Right.

Samantha started her first “official” week of pre-school last week and you would think she was going off to college. Forms to fill out, earthquake kits to prepare, volunteer sheets to sign, dates to mark, spare clothing to pack, and a tote bag to send her off on her first day with.

Yes, I am that mom who forgot her tote bag.

On her first “Real” day.

Please. Forgive. Me. Sam.

September is souring by, above my head, and I feel like I am floating.

Ballet and Tap started last week too, and I feel like her little life is falling into a sweet schedule. Her reaction to all this change is utter exuberance and my little mini-me is an ambassador for fearless fun.

On the way to school this morning she was scrolling through my pictures on the phone, and came across a picture of Jordan and I on our wedding day. Overlooking the Pacific ocean, with beach grass blowing in the wind, we were kissing just moments after saying I-do. Her little face asked me where she was, {like she always does in pictures before she came to be} and I said she wasn’t here yet.Its usally me having to tell her she was in my belly {she has always been in my belly right?!}, but today all she wanted to discuss was her wanting a white dress just like I was wearing.

She screamed at me from her car seat, “Mama! Please, please buy me a white dress, and take a picture of me kissing daddy”.

Be. Still. My. Heart.

She is three going on thirteen, all emotions, and courage too. She is a contradiction of sorts, one moment wildly passionate about a specific thing she wants, and then the next smartly serious about some off the wall story she is making up in her head.

Everyday to her should be a party of sorts- candles, singing, dancing, presents, and some sort of celebration.

I couldn’t agree with her more, and she reminds me to live in the moment, to practice being present over perfect every single day.

Next month is Addie girl’s.

“Addie Watch” I am calling it, any day of October could be her debut day.

But, this month, September, is Samantha’s month to shine. Center stage, she is back to school, tapping up a storm, dancing in her ballet shoes, and we sang with candles on her breakfast toast for three day’s in a row loudly screaming

“Happy 3rd day of school to you”.

She is running my schedule, more realistically my life, and as I fill out forms, sign checks, make phone calls, buy tan tap shoes, and try my best to daily remember her tote bag, I hold this month specifically close to my mama heart, our last month as just her & I.

Sammy and Mama.

One dynamic duo we have been together, three years, three months, and counting, my firstborn, my Samantha Grace.

Three weekends ago, Jordan and I celebrated six years. While it seems small on the scale, to me it feels weighty and significant. Nothing particular about the number, more about the life that is infused into the years. The stories that we can tell, and the roads we have walked together.

My parents picked Samantha up on a Sunday morning, and whisked her off too more planned activities in 48 hours than she is used to in a week with us. She was beyond excited to “slumber party” with Gram and Papa. This girl will take a party at any chance she get one, and off she went with no real look behind her shoulder at boring mom and dad.

We checked in early to the St. Regis in Monarch Beach, where at 10 a.m. the sun burned down by the pool just screaming to lay out and enjoy. We took the day slow, had coffee at the espresso bar, and just sat. We laughed as other parents chased their toddlers around the hotel, and said a big prayer of gratefulness for grandparents who love your baby as much as you do, and whisk her away so we can have a sweet break. We sat in the sun a bit, but mostly in the shade, unusual for me, but necessary with this growing belly.

We ordered plates of food, and fancy drinks, and I longingly eyed all the cocktails everyone was enjoying. I had smoothies instead, chocolate banana, and tried to not become green with envy for hubby’s IPA in his hand.

We lunched late, and read books and magazines, and people watched. The water felt divine, cool and crisp against the Labor Day heat.

We ate dinner late at Mastro’s in Newport Coast, ordering too many sides to our filet’s; gorgonzola mac and cheese, sautéed mushrooms, and creamed corn. It was obnoxious, and delicious and we were barely able to touch our anniversary dessert.

I woke up early, as I am just in a pattern of doing, got dressed in my lu lu’s while Jordan was still sleeping, and ordered a hot latte. I sat in a little two-top table overlooking the property and watched the fog lifting off the shoreline ahead. There is something so unusual about staying kid free at a fancy resort. Indulgent, and so out of the ordinary it almost feels illegal.

I had a chance sit down and really gather my thoughts. Not distracted, I was able to look back and look ahead at our marriage. To wish and write.

Travel, adventure, careers, and fancy-free living defined the first two-three years of our marriage. In so many ways, the days of us living in a little two-bedroom bungalow, atop this massive pool underneath, felt as much like resort living as it looked. The next three years, brought making a house a home, a baby girl, and parenthood in all its glory.

Things got less simple, and more complex. Bedtimes, swaddling, newborn fog, and figuring out how to do this raising a girl thing, added a new layer to our marriage. It spiced things up in the ways babies do. We were growing up, and this little baby girl, was teaching us how to do so.

Unexpected challenges hit our radar about the same time as our daughter hit the scene.

Or rather, life happened.

Our faith grew deeper; our hands held tighter together as we navigated life that didn’t always make sense.

God opened our eyes, our hearts and our hands to the world outside our perfect little bubble, to things He cares for right down the street.

Six years in feels more solid and strong, less reality TV, and more reality.

Were each other’s best friend, and six years in, our friendship feels more rooted, established, and resilient.

More like an oak, and less like the new palms planted in our backyard.

We have weathered some storms, and our faces show some of the grit and glory of making it through those days and nights.

Were continuing to work on building a marriage built on rock and not sand, infused with laughter, adventure, creativity, with open hearts and hands.

I started making a list of all our “anniversary wishes” that weekend. The list rolled into new years resolutions of sorts, hopes, ideas, and far-fetched dreams.

And as my hand ached as I wrote out all of my wishes for us, I realized how important it is to not stop the dreaming, the wishing, and adventure mapping.

I tell Samantha every day she can do anything, be anything, and reach for anything she wants.

And this year, after writing out our anniversary wishes, I want to remind myself us of the same.

That the next season, and this next year of marriage, can be anything we want it to be.

I like looking at the year ahead from the vantage of September.

A blank canvas, full of loads and loads of anniversary wishes: hopes we each have, dreams we both share, and places we want to go.

Here’s to number 7, may it be crammed and crowded with all the best of our wishes coming true.

All week I have kind of been subconsciously, anxiously preparing myself for today’s date, September 7th. Loaded with so much, and yet, at the same time, with so little. You see, when I found out I was pregnant in January, today was the glorious due date. And, as you mamas know, we track these things down to the exact date the minute we find out were pregnant. It was a date that was, and will forever be burned in the back of my brain.

This past winter for me was slow. Slow in getting what I wanted. Actually, in all honesty, winter in general didn’t deliver on what I wanted. Neither did summer or fall. What I wanted was another baby. So, when the test came positive at the end of December, you better believe January was a moment of super celebration, it held all that I had hoped for.

In many ways, I feel like I have been pregnant all year. Looking back to New Year Eve, drinking sparkling cider instead of champagne, and savoring our little secret on the couch with Jordan. The following day was a day of new beginnings, resolution writing, and a call to live the year well.

It was also the day we showed up to both sets of parents homes with pink and blue balloons, held by Samantha announcing she was indeed going to be a BIG sister. Ringing the doorbell, her running in, my parents confused at what it all meant, and the look on their faces when it all clicked. Scrolling through the photos telling Jordan’s parents still burns my throat. I see reflected back in me such anticipation, excitement, and relief, that yes, its finally happening!

Maybe looking back at that particular moment aches the way it does because in that one frame, it held what I wanted; and the future me wants to protect myself from what’s to come.

I want to hold myself back from all that excitement. And yet I can’t.

I want to tell my January self-full of joy, to warn her of what is to come later that month.

And yet I don’t.

I couldn’t.

Life doesn’t work that way. And in some ways I am grateful that I don’t know what the future holds.

Fast-forward eight months, and to today, what would have been my due date. Today is the epitome of a September day in southern California. 75 degrees, and its only 7:26 in the morning. Not a cloud in the sky, weather reports forecasting for record breaking heat.

Exactly what I would have expected out of today’s September date.

And yet, today, is not my due date, and for that reason I pause.

I am {still} pregnant, but I am carrying another child. Strange the way that even sounds to say out loud. Today, I stop, and slow down more than I would normally, and think about that precious child, the one I will never know this side of the gates. And, I pause, and let my heart mourn the loss of life as it did so intensely this past winter.

I think about that child, who has made room for this new child growing inside of me. Without the loss of that one, this new one wouldn’t be set to arrive in less than six weeks.

Today, this morning, I remember all of yours. I stop. And mourn these miscarriages we have shared with one another. The stories of commonality that tie a community together that I was never was privy to in the past.

Those are my people, and were bonded together, by a common loss, that is heart-wrenching, and hits too damn close to home.

And this week, the date of September 7th being so closely knitted together with the date of September 11th, I again stop, pause, reflect, and remember the colossal loss our country, families, and friends faced.

Many of you have stories that tie you together to a community of loss you never thought you would be apart of as well. That quite honestly, you never wanted to be tied to and apart of.

And for you, this week, I will stop, and we will pause, reflect, and never forget as well.

Summer for me is usually fancy free. Its packed with so much time in the sun, that my bronze and weathered skin usually loathes fall with such intensity it hurts. This summer is of course different, defined by an internal body temperature that is already so blazing, that the thought of sitting in the beating summer sun makes me cringe.

Yesterday, the one time of the day that I actually enjoyed the door being open was after 9 p.m., when I could feel a short, slight breeze, and finally get some fresh, non-refrigerated air. Not that I am complaining about the AC, this summer for me has been saved by cool, almost freezing places. I feel for those pregnant people who live in places with high humidity.

We just finished our backyard remodel, many months in the making, and its truly looking like the outside haven of our dreams. Every element we wanted got added to our small lot, its incredible what was fit in to such a small space.

It just beckons you to stay for a while, which we certainly are planning on doing.

We have been counting down the days until it was finally finished, and once the landscaping went in last week, we both kind of looked at each other, and sighed with sweet relief and happiness.

A large project, where Jordan wore the General Contractor hat most days since February, making sure every detail was completed and followed through to perfection. He amazed me with his eye for what it was going to look like, how every piece of furniture was going to fit, and now, looking outside, I can’t believe what he pulled together. The vision was realized.

And what a gorgeous one it is.

Backyard done. Baby {almost here!}, closer and closer to dreams being fulfilled. For me, it’s been a long, hot summer, truly not as hot as it could have been though. And for that, I am thankful. September and October are here, and I think were in for it, the hot heat, the broken AC’s, the weather reports that suggest we must stay hydrated, the brush fires- the things that so describe Southern California in the “fall”.

September and October also hold the celebrating of six years, the beginning of pre-school for Samantha, the loss of a couple dear friends who are moving away, a ten-year reunion for me, and a baby that is set to make her debut before Halloween. It’s the home stretch, the fifty-day countdown, intense joy mixed in with lots of change, both happy and sad. It’s a growing up, and getting older, and working through change, and a new addition.

It’s everything and also nothing like what I expected my life would look like ten years after high school. First of all, it’s a lot of pink. More than I even thought there could ever be in my world.

Its one three-year old girl named Samantha, spreading her wings a bit and entering pre-school, so excited about it, my heart bursts.

It’s another girl, Addison Joy, literally about to enter the world, our world, and our home. And then it’s this big girl, me, each year learning more about myself as a mother, a wife, a dreamer, writer, and a girl in search of whimsy and adventure in the middle of suburbia.

It’s a lot of hormones around here… lots of emotions, intense feelings, and hair-brained ideas. And some how, this guy, who stands by us ladies, and stays even keeled through it all.

God Bless Him.

And the three keg beer tap we got him in the backyard.

I think he really, really deserves it after all.

Good thing this one thing, isn’t pink.

It’s the first fall that I have ever looked forward to so much. Halloween is rolling out in the stores, and I even saw Christmas decorations at Costco this week. For once, my not so tan skin, eagerly looked on, smiled and laughed, and got really excited. It’s closer…It’s closer…She is closer, I am nearer, were all almost there.

There is the finish line.

And believe me, I am waddling, barefoot and pregnant, as quick as I can get there.

It kind of all happened by default, this quiet long break of being so socially un-connected. The month of July started with the bangs of fireworks, summer camps, and our little ladies birthday. We rolled from one day to the next, with the ease of summer, and the satisfaction of good breaks for mama and daughter. We have fallen into a sweet summer routine, taking time to enjoy the lazy days, and to savor the start of camps for Samantha and the much-needed, blessed quiet time for this pregnant mama.

We have swam, beached, sugar-rushed on the street with neighbor friends, stayed up too late and finally started this habit of sleeping in as well. For our girl always being such an early riser, it’s been this little summer surprise that I have been relishing as well.

I have unplugged a lot more, turning off Facebook, Instagram, and the constant checking of my email- and kind of by default, the blogging as well. I have needed a summer break to unwind and unplug. And I didn’t realize how badly I needed it until facebook stopped working well on my phone, and sign after sign pointed in the direction of needing a pause. So there I am, and more on the later, but for now, I am enjoying the slower pace.

The lazy days of summer still lie before us, and I am longing for some more time to read in the sun, eat endless amounts of raspberries, watermelon, nectarines with chocolate chips {on top!} and pack up for some more days spent in Laguna Beach.

Were inching to the finish line on a backyard remodel that has been going on since early spring, and I can taste the glorious end. Were moving Samantha to her big girl bedroom at the end of the month, and going to spend September transitioning her to a new space, and prepping the nursery for baby sister with a little updating. All I can say is, hot pink and white here we come.

Were almost 100% on a name for this baby girl, so close to making it final, I can see it. I have bought her a wall plaque with her name on it, so I think its final, but with a 20-week name change decision, I am still giving myself grace and space to change. Even though, it’s so darn cute, I can’t see why it wouldn’t be her name.

August is here, the Nordies anniversary sale is ending tomorrow, and as I was shopping for the “next season” yesterday, I couldn’t help but sense a subtle breeze in the air, and for once in my life, long with intensity for the festivities of fall, and the arrival of our sweet girl, or as Samantha calls her, baby sister. The next season is indeed almost here, and that means so many things, and so much change indeed. Change of course, a family going from three to four, and most assuredly a sprinkling of chaos and crazy on top of that change.

So, before it comes, before I step onto that track, of sleepless nights and recovery, and 24/7 demands and schedules, I have derailed the train, and pulled over at a rest stop. Most pregnant people the last trimester begin “nesting” like crazy, and while that’s hit as well, there is also this subtle internal need of mine to stop.

To hit pause- halt, break, rest, and stay put. Unwinding and slowing down, these things that rarely define our routine have been a relief for me. I’m feeling lighter, even though looking at me, that could be the furthest thing from the truth; and appreciating the simple days of summer. I am working on “working on” resting in my own routine. What that looks like, how to halt and break with a toddler, and seeing what allowing myself to slow down is doing for my soul. And while I have no clue what four will do in the rhythm of our family, these days of unplugging and recharging are reminding me of the beauty in finding rest in whatever season you are in, however you can carve it out, because of the incredible gift it grants our bodies, minds, and souls.

I awoke this morning with the need to find a computer and a cup of coffee quickly. It’s been a long, sweet, and satisfying week. Its been preparation, and anticipation, events and calls, texts, and snapping of photos. It’s the first week of July, and life this year is busting with busy.

Target Runs, and Mall visits, laying out pink platters, and buying gold fish, and flavored Perrier’s. It’s been packing, and un-packing, planning and re-planning. Summer Camp, Preparation for Princess Dance Camp, Party Planning, 4th of July Events, A Wedding, and a Big Third Birthday Weekend. Whoever wonders behind closed doors what mothers do all week needs to find themselves shadowing a mother for about 48 hours before they realize they simply DO IT ALL.

And, in an instant, when your daughter gets the that smile on her face, and takes a bite into her Pinkalicious Cupcake, you realize why, you DO indeed, DO IT ALL.

My mama last night at dinner toasted to me, on the eve of Samantha’s birthday, and said “Happy-Birth-Day”, we clanked glasses, and smiled, both silently reflecting on the weight of mamahood, the things we do to bring these babies into this world. All the waiting, the planning, the dreaming, the hoping, the pushing, the crying, the pulling, and the tearing- we do it all, to hear the wailing, the cooing, the mumbling, the speaking, the talking, the sentence speaking, the story telling- the ever changing, of baby becoming.

And as much as this day, July 7th, will always be Samantha’s day, her day full of phone calls, presents, cupcakes, parties, and celebration, it will always be my “birth” day as well. That’s the funny thing about mamas, we thrive on taking the backseat to our babes, letting them shine, take the limelight, and the glory. Of course we do. We do it all, because of the love we feel for them, fierce and all consuming. We would rather celebrate them, then ourselves. We would choose to do it all for them, any day of the week, any month of the year, over and over again.

This morning, cup of coffee in hand, silence throughout the house, sun sneaking through the clouds, tissue paper scattered on the floor, little sandals littered throughout the room, I am realizing that as much as Samantha has grown in these three years, more I believe, have I. No one told me that this gig would involve so much change in me. Who and what it would birth in me. That this one little human thing, could so radically affect me, mold me, and mend me the way that she has. That the stretch marks on my body were just physical symbol’s of the ways in which my heart and life could expand. That all the feeding, crawling, rocking, snuggling, hugging, changing, kissing- was the ever changing of me becoming mama too.

Three years ago today, little did I know, the way my world would be rocked and the way three years later my world could have rolled into the fullest of lives. If you told me then how satisfied I would be by this routine, I might have been surprised. I think I would have thought I would be bored. Or maybe internally aching for something more, grander, life outside of suburbia perhaps. But life here, at home, is better than I could have imagined. Much wider, louder, exciting, adventurous, and more complete than I ever could have contemplated back then. You see, before, I hadn’t met Samantha. I didn’t know the way she would change Jordan and I’s life, the color she would bring. The way she makes everything seem that much bigger, better, and more beautiful.

I used to think life at home, with her would drive me crazy. And don’t get me wrong, we have our days, but no one could prepare me, three years ago, for what burning love will make you do. It makes you Do It All, and every day, Do It All again, again, and again.

These days of the end of June, these days of counting down from June 28, to July 7th, will always hold such tremendous weight in my mama’s heart.

9 whole days I waited past her due date, and with each passing minute, hour, day, I felt as if I would explode. Quite literally if were all being honest around here.

Samantha came late to the show, on a rainy July CA morning, so odd, and yet, so Sam.

11:36 a.m. on July 7th, 2010.

And today, it feels like just yesterday and on the same hand, it feels like exactly three years ago.

You see, those moments and memories all come flooding back, like I could touch and feel all the rhythms of those days counting down to Samantha. Walking the curbs, drinking castor oil {word to the wise: never again}, doing jumping jacks, running {yes, a overdue mama running is just what you DON’T want to see in suburbia}, and praying…so much praying.

And yet, it truly does feel like three years ago.

The little girl who we brought home is a talking, running, ordering around machine.

She eats with gusto- she loves steak, ice cream, berries, and cheese.

She loves to play- imaginative, in the street, barefoot, wild and free.

That little bundle is now a pre-schooler.Be. Still. My. Heart.

And parts of me, those sacred mama parts of my heart get all sorts of sad and sentimental.

And then, the other parts, the ones that know she is growing up, and so happy to see her fly, get all sorts of happy and beaming too.

This morning, I dropped her off at summer school.

For many mom’s and dad’s, this was a normal drop off, a welcome reprieve to their summer schedules.

And yet, the significance of the moment is not lost on either Jordan or I.It’s her first real day of some sort of “school” even though its labeled “summer school” and involves more play and less learning.She was so excited to go. To put on her new shoes {no sandals is shocking for this girl}, pack her bag, and meet her cousin Julia.She started screaming she was so thrilled when I pulled in the parking lot and she saw the park and her Julia waiting to lead her in.

I used to “sorta” make fun of parents who posted all these “first day” school pictures. And the “first” everything’s like “everything” is so significant- crawling, walking, talking, running, potty training, etc.And today, as I cried into my coffee as I finished packing her lunch, I realized that there is nothing insignificant or silly about these parents and their “first everything” pictures. In fact, its pretty darn significant and special to each and every one of us parents who one moment are packing up the carseat and leaving the hospital for the first time, to the next moment dropping them off for pre-school.The weight of the significance is heavy and sweet.

This morning, for a few minutes, it felt like she was walking away with my heart.And on the same hand, this heart, this body that held her, couldn’t be more ecstatic for her.Growing up, and growing into the girl God made her to be.

To My Sweet Samantha, who in Seven days turns three, Happy First Day of School.

This past weekend, I got my hubby to agree to go to the beach. This was pure bliss for the wife of a man who has a slight phobia of sand in his toes. Samantha woke up early Saturday morning, earlier than she has been waking up normally. When I got back from an attempt at a run, her and Jordan were playing in the playroom. Signing along to Elmo, shaking tambourines, and dancing around the room.

I had casually mentioned the night before that I “might” want to go down to the shore in the early morning sunlight. Jordan just laughed, sighed, and secretly hoped his resounding groan would qualify as a proper answer. As they stood banging out their own version of a grunge garage band, I mentioned again, in “code” the way all parents have to communicate with a almost three year old.

“Do you want to go to the B-E-A-C-H babe?”…

“Sure babe”, he said. I don’t think he could say no to his preggo wife if were really being honest.

Hallelujah, I thought. Anything to get my soul to the sea.

I kind of feel like taking a friend to church for the first time when I take Jordan down to the beach. All sweaty and anxious, hoping that their not put off by the music, the raising of hands, and the possible sermon on finances.

I want him to so badly fall in love with the water as I do. I want him to see what I see, all beauty, and life, creation spilling over with praise. When I stare at the water, I see endless possibilities- all wrapped in hope, joy, life, love, and magic.

It really is kind of like being at church for me too.

Growing up in the church & growing up at the beach have endless things in common.

My heart is at home at both. I see Jesus in the waves of the water, and in the worship of the people.

But sometimes, I get uncomfortable transitioning to inviting people into these areas of my life. The ones that are so sacred to me. Like church and the beach.What will they think? What if they don’t like it? What if it makes our relationship uncomfortable?What if their let down? What will I say? What if they find it stupid, dumb, awkward?The questions play out in a game of mental pursuit.

And Saturday morning wasn’t any different. Even with my own husband.

We hit the top of the hill, right above PCH, and the mist and clouds were sitting on sand. I could tell they weren’t going to move for awhile. Behind us the sun was screaming out our names to come back to suburbia, and ahead of us, lie the promise of hours of june gloom. I really didn’t want him to see this beach, my new summer favorite, as anything other than absolutely perfect.I had built it up so much. This special spot to Sam and I.An outdoor room and endless space.

I made him pull into bux in the nearby center, made a dash for the door and ordered “our list”. As I stood waiting for the barista to place the drinks on the counter, I contemplated having him turn around.

Seriously. I did.

I could convince Samantha that the beach had closed, I could change the adventure into something new, I went over a quick way to turn this morning around.If it wasn’t going to be exactly how I wanted it to be, should we even bother going?

And yet, we didn’t.

We kept on down the road in the clouds, the mist, to that wet damp morning.

We unpacked our car, walked down the path, parked our chairs in my familiar spot. We dug in the sand, made castles, ran through the cave, watched crazy boys rock jump, went in search of treasures in the tide pools, let Samantha put her suit on in the sub-par temperatures, and leisurely sat sipping our coffee while we watched Samantha chase the waves.

And to think, I almost made him turn around.

I think so much of my life is spent in a dreaded mind game, determining what “is” and what “isn’t” picture perfect settings. I think that if conditions are not 100% ideal, “lets pass”, “lets skip”, or “lets not invite”.

The “let’s not” plays loudly over the “why not”, and I get all wrapped up in life needing to meet my pre-determined expectations.

And yet, Jordan looked at me at the end of our three hour misty morning, and said how much he loved it. How fun it was to watch Samantha in her element, how great it was for us to be able to connect over coffee while she chased waves at the shore. Our time was up on our meter in the parking lot, and I could tell he even wanted to stay.

And it just confirmed so many things in the little corner of my heart that doubts how God works.In so many areas.

I think I always know the “way” it needs to be done. How it all needs to play out so everyone has a great time. And it definitely doesn’t involve a misty morning. Or a sermon on finances.

And yet, somehow God does His best work in those Ways.Ways I never would have expected to work.Through damp days, hokey sermons, shared stories, take out pizza for dinner and oddly through you and through me.The most misty mornings turn into the most magical moments.And next time when I start to doubt, start to reconsider, and want to change the circumstances to fit into my perfectly mapped out menu, I want to close my eyes, and for a moment remember this past Saturday morning. The less than ideal temperatures, the cold brisk chill in the air, the sun that didn’t come out to shine until we were leaving, and the surprising way it all worked together for good.